Santa Fe
by Aegismaiden
Summary: What if Santa Fe, to Jack, was not just the promise of freedom, but the promise of a girl? A girl he met in the refuge, a girl who inspired him to something greater than soaking scabs and running from the bulls? R&R, Oneshot turned multichapter!
1. Part I

A/N: Errors fixed! I do not own Newsies, obviously, or the song whose name I regret to say I cannot remember. I wrote this a while ago and may write the other parts when I have time. R&R.

Francis lay on his bunk in the prison cell, staring up at the ceiling above him. The other boys snored loudly, voiding any hope of falling asleep soon. He wished for the stars; the few stars visible in the Manhattan sky, or a cool breeze across his face. The small space reserved for boy's petty crimes was stuffy and hot, causing him to sweat and the cot on which he lay was hard and lumpy.

_Summer stinks_, he thought.

He rolled over onto his side and placed a pillow over his head, trying to find a more comfortable position with no luck. Frustrated, he pulled the pillow off of his head and sighed. Then he heard it.

A soft singing, slightly muffled by the wall beside him, was coming from the next room over. He gathered that it was a girl's voice, as it was singing very high notes in a language he did not understand.

_A orillas del Zamora tan bello  
De verdes saucedales tranquilos,  
Campiña de mi tierra risueña,  
Casita de mis padres, mi amor;_

_Tristeza del recuerdo me mata,  
Casita de mis padres, mi amor,  
A orillas del Zamora  
Cómo te añora mi corazón..._

He listened, enchanted by the melody as it washed over him.

_Sino cruel, hoy en extraños lares  
Bogo en los mares de la aflicción,  
Sino cruel, entre las recias olas  
Gimiendo a solas va mi dolor._

_¡Oh dolor!, en dónde está la madre,  
la buena anciana toda dulzor,  
¡Oh dolor!, en dónde está el encanto  
de mi ferviente y primer amor._

He could feel the anguish in the singer's voice and as the song ended, his curiosity got the better of him and he called out to her.

"Youse 'ave a beautiful voice," he whispered, trying to be heard yet praying that none of the guards were listening.

Silence met his words for a moment before she answered in a thick Spanish accent, "Thank you."

Suddenly, the sleepless night did not seem so bad; he was not alone. "Why would a poison wit' a beautiful voice such as youself be locked up in a place like dis one?"

"Hunger. I stole a bushel of apples."

Francis laughed softly, "An 'ole bushel? Whyse not just one?"

"Because if I steal one apple, I have to steal again. I steal the whole bushel; I not have to go back for long time."

"Sometimes it be safer to nick one apple, not forty."

The girl laughed. "I'll remember that next time. Why are you here?"

"Aww, I'se soaked some rich kid."

The girl hesitated. "What is this—soaked?"

"Umm...hurt badly? I pretty much pounded him into the ground."

"You don't sound very sorry about it."

"I'se not. He deserved it. He was punching up a bunch o' newsies."

"Your what?"

"Kids that sell the papes. They're kinda small, so I'se helped 'em out."

"That was kind of you. So what's ya name?"

"Francis Sullivan. You?"

A guard pounded on the door. "Youse kids shut up in there!"

Francis laughed before rolling over. "Good night," he whispered a few minutes later.

"Good night," she answered.

For the next few days, they talked every night. One night the girl told him about the place she was from.

"It's simply beautiful; it's a desert with cacti, but it's a wide open space, and you can see the stars. The wind blows over your face, and you feel at home. Cattle are the main form of living; the cowboys rustle them up and lead them places, the women make beautiful trinkets, and the little boys ride horses everywhere. It's amazing. Near my house in Santa Fe, there is a little river that flows, and you can go swimming every day. During the winter, it rarely snows, but when it does, it is the most beautiful thing you would ever see. Everything is clean and green and wonderful.

"Madre and Padre make the best food, too; and we work all day long, herding sheep, planting vegetables. It is a lot of work, but I love it. Sara, my sister, prefers to go to town nearly every day; she has a sweetheart there who is always giving her little trinkets."

"Have youse eva 'ad a sweetheart?"

Chuckling, she answered, "No, I stay at the ranchero most of the time. The boys who are my age in Santa Fe spend all their time in the hills."

"Do youse plan to go back there someday?"

"Yes, I was planning on taking my bushel of apples and hitching a ride in a boxcar."

Francis laughed. "I hope you make it back to Santa Fe."

"I will; but not in the style I want to. In three days, I'm going to be released; my term is up and then they're shipping me back to Santa Fe."

His face fell. "You're leaving so soon?"

"Yes; I don't have a life sentence, you know."

Chuckling, Francis sighed. "Ise guess so, but me term don't end 'til next month."

All day long, Francis dreamed of Santa Fe, just the way the girl had described it to him. It was just the medicine he needed to keep his spirits up. Just one more month, and he would follow her to Santa Fe. Night fell, and he could not wait to talk to her about his plan.

"So, do youse think I'd make it in a place like Santa Fe?"

The girl chuckled softly, "Maybe; I haven't seen you. You sound smart enough."

"I tell youse what, I'm gonna meet ya in Santa Fe when I get me enough money, and I'll bring you bushels and bushels of apples!"

"Try not to get thrown into prison when you get those apples; it'll be a long wait."

"Then you'll just 'ave ta wait for me."

"I will."

"Have ya hoid the rumors that Teddy Roosevelt is coming to visit the prison in a week?"

The girl smiled. "Who hasn't? The girls talk of nothing else."

"Wouldn't it be great to meet 'im?"

"Yeah, but why would he visit a bunch of petty criminals?"

"I dunno," came the reply. "I bet if you were here, he'd see you and you'd ride out on his carriage in true style!"

"You don't even know what I look like!"

"That don't matter, I bet youse the most beautiful goil in all o' the state o' New Yawk."

"What if you were the one to ride out on his carriage? You've got brains, and you're a leader!"

"Maybe I can just sneak on."

"If you got caught, you'd be stuck here for life!"

Silence fell among the twosome.

"How old are you?" Francis asked suddenly.

"Sixteen; you?"

"Nearly seventeen. Isn't it odd that youse're leaving tomorra and I still don't know yer name?"

"Yes, I guess so; it's—"

The answer was muffled; Francis could not hear. "What was that?"

The guard banged on the doors, "Shut up you!"

Disappointed, the two friends turned away from their wall and tried to fall asleep, knowing full well that they may never talk again.

The next day dawned bright and early, but Francis's heart was down. He was losing his one friend in the sanctuary, and he still had a month to go. He watched the door, determined not to miss her as she walked out to freedom. Time ticked by slowly, and finally the bell rang. He plastered his face up against the bars of the boys' cell to catch a glimpse of his friend.

The guard bellowed into the room but Francis could not understand.

Francis heard shuffling, a door unlocking, and someone being dragged through a threshold. Then his breath caught in his throat as he saw her.

Her head was high with what little dignity she still had, her cinnamon skin glowing in the dimness of the corridor. Her dark hair poured from her head, secured below a cowboy hat that dangled from her neck. As she passed, he distinctly saw her black eyes flicker over his face as she smiled a secret smile. She knew it was him.

Sighing, Francis tore his face away from the bars as she disappeared from view. She was gone; he was determined to follow when he got a chance.


	2. Part II

A/N: Uploading the first chapter gave me the inspiration to write the next part. I don't know where it will go from here, it's still just an idea in my head that hasn't made it onto paper. R&R!

_So that's what they call a family  
Mudder, daughter, fadder son_  
_Guess that everything ya hoid about is true._

Francis stood on a fire escape on the outskirts of Manhattan, deep in thought. He had just finished dinner with the Jacobs. They were a nice family, a loving father and mother with three happy children. He enjoyed spending time with them; David was smart as well as teachable, Les was friendly and bright, and Sarah was sweet. At the thought of Sarah, he sighed.

She was the kind one, and after only a few hours, she had impressed herself upon his memory. In a way, Sarah reminded him of the girl from the prison—what _was _her name? In his mind, Santa Fe and the girl were jumbled together; a place as well as a person. She had spoken of family; she had loving parents and a sister. What did he have? A lie?

_So you ain't got any family  
Well, who said you needed one?  
Ain'tcha glad nobody's waiting up for you?_

Defiance welled up inside Francis as he pushed down the forgotten thoughts of his parents who had died years ago. He told everyone that they were in Santa Fe, waiting for him; they would send for him when they had the ranch set up. Then again, he also told everyone his name was Jack Kelly.

_When I dream on my own  
I'm alone but I ain't lonely  
For a dream a night's the only time o' day  
When the city's finally sleepin'  
When my thoughts begin to stray  
And I'm on the train that's bound for Santa Fe_

Late at night, in peaceful slumber, Francis—Jack now—dreamed of the girl and of Santa Fe. Far away from the problems of the city, hunger, fights, trying to make ends meet, he would step off of the train and see her standing in the red dust of the desert holding a bushel of apples. Everyone thought that he was alone, but no—she was there.

_And I'm free like the wind  
Like I'm gonna live forever  
It's a feeling time can never take away  
All I need's a few more dollars  
And I'm out of here to stay  
If dreams come true, yes they do  
In Santa Fe…_

One of his favorite dreams of Santa Fe was the one where he would be riding a horse freely, letting it take him wherever the wind led. A lasso in his hand, he would rustle cattle and ride into the sunset. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and he reached back for his cowboy hat.

The cowboy hat was hers. When he had been walking along the train tracks, deep in thought, he had found her hat. He was sure that it was hers from the glimpse that he had had of it as well as the fact that there was a note tucked into it. It was written in a choppy script, as though the writer was not used to writing in English very much. It was simple: _Go get 'em, Cowboy._

_Where does it say you've gotta live and die here?  
Where does it say a guy can't catch a break?_

After he read that note, a fire had sparked inside of him and all he wanted to do was board the train that day and ride out. He was sick of nicking an apple here, lying, cheating, stealing, bunking in a room with more than a dozen other guys, just trying to make ends meet.

_Why should you only take what you're given?  
Why should you spend your whole life living  
Trapped where there ain't no future  
Even at seventeen?  
Breaking your back for someone else's sake_

He enjoyed being their ringleader to an extent, but being the oldest at seventeen, right on the brink of manhood, he wanted to get out, to escape instead of lending his money to the other newsies every day and watching their backs as they stupidly got themselves into fights and brawls.

_If the life don't seem to suit ya  
How 'bout a change of scene?  
Far from the lousy headlines  
And the deadlines in between…_

All he could feel was a longing for wide open spaces, far away from the dingy and dirty city. He wanted so much to get out and be himself, not every one else around him. The girl had known that; she would understand.

_Santa Fe, are ya there?  
Do ya swear ya won't forget me?  
If I found ya would ya let me come and stay?  
I ain't getting' any younger  
And before my dyin' day  
I want space, not just air,  
Let 'em laugh in my face  
I don't care_

Standing outside his lodging house, Jack sighed, tired and ready for another night of dreaming.

_Save a place, I'll be there  
Santa Fe…_


End file.
